


And the Universe said I love you

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Character Tags To Be Added - Freeform, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Shippers get their breathing privileges revoqued, Technobro or Technodad? We just don't know, no beta we die like l'manburg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27346444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The Blood God was spared from death before he could ever learn how to defend himself. He was taken care of, looked after, and loved. The Universe gave him a father and a brother and a home.Years later, the Universe decides it's time for him to repay the favor.--
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 350
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ma'am, this is my emotional support MCYT headcanon,,, :,)
> 
> It's 5AM, I just want wholesome Techno and Tommy fics.

Technoblade does not do tender or gentle care.

He’s a warrior, a killing machine, the almighty ‘Blood God’ whose name strikes fear and panic into the hearts of many as soon as it is whispered, from villagers to adventurers to warriors. His skill is undeniable, winning tournaments and duels ruthlessly, always speaking bluntly. 

The half-piglin isn’t without his mercy, of course, but gentleness is rare if not completely void either because of his nature or just lack of reference. The kindness he is capable of giving comes in the shape of killing attackers in mercy; swift and quick. Or outside of battle it comes in the shape of carefully tending to the earth, or listening patiently to a story from the small circle of people he allowed close to him.

It doesn’t bother him at all, not really. There isn’t a necessity to be gentle or kind other than with crops and seedlings sprouting from the earth back at his home, and his family-- his father and his brother, can handle his quiet, blunt personality with no trouble at all. So Technoblade lets himself be stoic and blunt and terrifying, without the need to be gentle at all in his travels.

Tournaments after tournaments, duels after duels and even the far in between ambushes at some forests or abandoned Nether wastes, he doesn’t find a single reason to be gentle.

Until he does.

Stumbling upon a child isn’t an everyday occurrence for Techno.

Children are out of his radar, and he isn’t particularly fond of those street urchins waiting to pickpocket careless travelers or shopkeepers. He’s glad most if not all children he’s come in contact with don’t come to him, shrinking away and hiding behind their parent’s legs or ducking out of the way into alleyways or turning corners abruptly. The sword at his hip and tusks protruding from under his lips help a lot.

(His brother would have laughed, his father would probably have laughed, too. They know he doesn’t do well with people he’s not beating senselessly into oblivion.)

So facing a child that isn’t whimpering at him or running away or hiding-- in the middle of a forest, is...new.

Not in the best way, really, and Technoblade holds an awkward, impromptu staring contest with a small, dirty and glaring toddler for what felt like ages, looking at the child with a mixture of annoyance and surprise.

Dear End, not even street urchins started stealing or playing traps onto travelers that young. He knows this, and is immediately on the look out for whatever group of children or adults plan on jumping him because that toddler is most definitely a distraction or a trap for any bleeding heart in the forest.

Luckily, his heart isn’t going to bleed tonight nor any other night.

The toddler glares at him, blue eyes narrowed in what the warrior thinks should be an intimidating look but it’s just amusing, like a kitten trying to intimidate a lion. Techno doesn’t move a step, barely even shifting his legs when the child yells in the way only children are capable of yelling; shrill and nearly ear-shattering. The warrior tenses immediately, hand hovering over the scabbard of his Netherite sword and waiting for the ambush that was sure to happen, ready to cut down whoever was foolish enough to think they could take him out with a badly planned trap.

Nothing comes at him from the bushes or the trees or the nearby hills, and instead, the small toddler keeps his battle cry as he rams into his legs with slightly clumsy steps, barely even tall enough to reach his knees and hitting him over and over again with a small, almost broken toy sword made out of thin, fragile wood.

He tenses still, waiting for the pending attack. The half piglin man only lowers his stance after the seconds turn to minutes and no one comes from the darkness, the only thing attacking him being a little toy sword that will probably break against his greaves if the kid hit them with it a few more times.

Wordlessly, Technoblade looks down at the toddler; Still trying to hit him with his tiny sword and somehow still yelling, face blotchy red and eyes fierce.

“Stop.” He says mildly, plainly. The kid hits the side of his greaves with the sword once again, very much not stopping. “Kid.”

He doesn’t stop, and Techno quickly sidesteps one of the toddler’s clumsy blows, walking away in purposely big strides to leave the child behind.

Techno doesn’t expect the sudden weight on his cape, nor the kid screaming at him in a hoarse baby voice as he waves the toy sword around, trying to hit the back of his legs and palms. He turns around quickly, annoyed, and the child looks up at him with fierce eyes before they widen in surprise as Techno grabs the back of the dirty shirt, lifting him up in the air at arms’ length.

The kid kicks wildly in the air, waving the toy sword around as if it could hit the man’s face if he tried hard enough. To any outside, it would eerily look like a man holding onto a feral cat.

“Quit it kid.” Techno says mildly, looking at the little urchin in front of him. The kid is definitely very, very young, no older than four maybe? Dirty and small and full of energy, but weighing next to nothing and moving around with still clumsy limbs.

End almighty, bandits really do start their kids young around these places, don’t they?

“I don’t have time for this, go back to your gang.” Techno says, because he isn’t kind but he isn’t heartless either. He’d simply walk away and not skewer the bandits that were with the kid right in front of him. Annoying him wasn’t a crime deserving trauma--yet.

“No! Fight me!” The toddler yells, his voice raw and high pitched, words still slightly mispronounced over baby talk. His eyes are still narrowed, slightly bright with tears. “Fight me!”

“No.”

“Fight me!!” 

Techno sighs, letting his hold on the child’s shirt go and dropping him to the ground. The fall isn’t bad at all, and the toddler gives a squeak of surprise as gravity takes him and the ground mets his behind, looking up at the tall stranger with teary eyes. “Ow!”

“Don’t ‘ow’ me,” Techno sighs, feeling the faint pulses of annoyance starting to beat behind his forehead. He gets on level with the toddler, kneeling in front of him with a completely blank expression. “Go. Home. You brat.”

The child looks up at him, still so tiny even when Techno has to take a knee, and remains quiet, blue eyes glaring and pooling with tears, face still blotchy with a red blush. He says nothing, sniffling miserably at the adult as he looks at him with suspicion.

“...Don’t tell me you’re lost.” Techno mumbles, half annoyed, half exasperated. He feels a headache already and only just talked to this screaming, little banshee of a kid for a few minutes already. “Where is your house?”

“...Dn’t have..”

‘Ah, street urchin indeed.’ The half piglin thinks, sarcastic even in his own head. ‘Just my luck.’

“Your parents?”

“Dn’t have..”

So a street urchin AND an orphan. Technoblade mentally sighs, and curses whatever deity he pissed off to saddle him in this situation. 

“Is there anyone taking care of you?” He asks, and the only answer he receives is the toddler looking at him with that little glare of his, eyes wide and tears at the corners. “Ah.”

Techno curses his luck, curses unknown deities and curses himself for even stopping for the child. He doesn’t notice when said child starts sobbing slightly, and only pays attention when the child starts hiccuping silent sobs, and his annoyance is replaced with thin veiled panic and some sort of awkwardness that sits in his gut.

Anything, anything but crying children. He’d leave without hesitation.

Only then though, does he notice the toddler’s face, reddened with a flush more so than the blotchiness of recovering breath after screaming his little lungs off, eyes slightly unfocused in a way that Techno knew wasn’t good. 

The child is dirty, alone without parents or a home. Techno touches the child’s forehead with curiosity, and his eyes widen slightly noticing how uncomfortably warm his skin is. Alone and running a fever.

What does he do?

Technoblade does not like children, but he isn’t evil as to leave the kid to die over sickness. He doesn’t have the resources with him either, medicine or potions. There should be a village nearby, but…

The child sobs, maybe scared or in pain or both, and Techno finally snaps to attention from his musings. He hesitates for a few seconds before awkwardly taking the child in his arms, the kid still fusses and tries uselessly to hit him with the wooden toy, but the man easily takes the item and stores it away. 

“Stop that,” Techno says firmly, feeling a headache himself though for entirely different reasons than sickness. “I’m taking you to a village.”

The toddler whines, from pain or trying to refuse, he doesn’t know. Techno looks at him for a few moments at the child fusses for a few more seconds before finally settling against the fabric of his shirt and the fuzz of his cape. Fussy or not, the warmth of something covering wins the toddler over easily in his current condition. “Dn’t wanna..”

He’s half tempted to drop the toddler again, almost. But he doesn’t.

He’s lost, alone, and Techno really does not like children but-- he can’t help but think of his father, when he first found him in the Nether, alone with nothing but a nametag and a broken sword. He probably looked just as small and pathetic, feeling just as weak and--scared as the child on his arms.

Phil saved him that day, a lone, aggressive child a few steps away from death due to wither poison. Maybe the universe wanted something in return for letting him live, for letting him live and take lives, and this was it.

Maybe, most likely not, but maybe.

“Too bad.” The man replies, and tries to ignore the way the toddler shivers in his arm or how his filthy clothes clung to his tiny body thanks to the sweat. For how long has the kid been sick? “What’s your name?”

“..Tommy,”

“Hm,” Tommy, maybe Thomas. At least the kid has a name and remembers it, small mercies, he supposes. “We’re going to a village and get you to a doctor.”

And then an orphanage, or something. He doesn't know.

Tommy shivers in his arms, saying nothing and tries to soak up as much warmth as possible. Techno looks at him, then at the darkening skies, and once again curses whatever in the universe wanted him doing this.

They were lucky, the Blood God wasn’t gentle but he wasn’t heartless. Not completely, not at all.

Technoblade adjust the hold on the feverish child, and runs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, wanting to write Technodad/bro and fully knowing he'd rather punt an orphan rather than keeping 'em: Dual wielding baybeeee :))))))

The village they arrive at is poor and small and not at all that safe from outside forces; The walls are crumbling stone covered with moss and littered with broken arrows around it, no iron golems in sight and the houses looking half burnt or destroyed and very few standing untouched by destruction. It’s depressing and quiet, with few villagers and the handful of adventurers around, more or less worse for wear as they walked around and prepared to settle for the night.

Techno looks at the village, then at the child shivering in his arms and sighs, coming to a stop in front of the decrepit walls and trying to look around for anything remotely helpful in the crater of civilization. The houses are small, and there are buildings that he guesses can be either libraries or cartography houses. A church with dilapidated bricks and cracked cobble stands in place, doors open and a cleric at the entrance, bandages poking from the neck of their robes.

“That will do,” The man mumbles to himself, feeling the child squirm in his hold against a fever he can’t do much about. 

The cleric looks at him and at the feverish child, and Techno is somehow immensely grateful that everything looks just as haggard as them, not out of malice, but out of dodging an imaginary arrow; presenting a dirty, sick, probably malnourished child will always be something hard to explain for a reason or another, many will not believe the tale of finding a street orphan in the middle of the forest, because the story sounds just too perfect to explain something that could be abuse. Looking as tired as he is, sword at his hip and tense with the experience of battle, it’s easy to think they’ve been hit by whatever hit this village, too.

“Kid needs help,” He says mildly, presenting the small toddler trying to huddle against his shirt, tear stains on his cheeks. “I think he’s feverish, and I don’t have the potions to help.”

The villager mumbles something in their language, brow knitting in worry before taking the child in their arms, and Techno can see the shift in expression from worry to surprise to grim worry again. Maybe children weren’t supposed to be that light, maybe it’s worse than he expected. 

The cleric makes a motion to follow, and the half piglin obliges slightly reluctantly. The insides of the church are in slight disarray with broken lecterns, oil lanterns casting dim glow on the stained glass and a big table with a, thankfully, fully usable brewing stand at the center. There’s a few more villagers inside alongside a couple of adventurers-- players, like him. No one really pays attention as they get closer, probably too used to the sight of people being battered and needing a dose of healing or regen far too often.

It’s incredibly off putting.

The cleric doesn’t waste time sitting the toddler in one of the chairs, earning a whine of protest and discomfort at the slight tussle before settling again, sweat on his brow and cheeks flushed pink with heat. The villager checks on the child, and mutters something soft and gentle that Techno can’t understand well, but by the tone of voice it’s something meant to be comforting.

They frown at the fever and shivers, at the dirty clothes and the way the toddler’s limbs were a bit too skinny and twig-like to be comfortable. There’s yellowed bruises blooming along his legs, and Techno sets his lips into a thin line as the cleric hums in clear disapproval. 

The brewing stand glows dimly thanks to the blaze powder fueling it, bottles of water boiling and slowly changing their clear color as the cleric adds the ingredients needed for something that could help the child heal; from nether wart to ghast tears to faint traces of redstone out of all things. The pink concoctions bubbling even when the blaze powder is consumed entirely and the liquid pours from the bottles and into small bowls.

Techno watches the process with semi-interest, and hums when the cleric gives the child to drink only half of a bowl full of Regen potion. Maybe it was good he didn’t have any-- had he somehow decided to give a potion to the kid, he’d used the entire bottle and probably overdose the toddler with glistering melons and ghast tears.

Said toddler squirms, whines and sobs, but ultimately drinks the potion before falling into a fitful sleep. The villager takes the child into their arms and before the half-piglin has a chance to blink, the blonde child is once again in his arms, light as a feather and shivering slightly less now.

Technoblade sighs as the cleric gives him a look, as if reprimanding him for something, before scurrying out of the church and lighting a couple of lanterns outside as nightfall comes.

* * *

  
  
  


Technoblade stays the night in the village, and learns right away why it looked half dead with so little going on.

The village is besieged by mobs, constantly, after a raid that took away more than half of it. Zombies and Skeletons and Witches constantly pouring out of the woods, like a moth to a flame.

Techno doesn’t move from his spot, back pressed against the cobble walls and using his cape as a makeshift blanket for the time being. The atmosphere is uneasy for many reasons; surrounded by wary and jumpy strangers, whispering with underlying fear and hesitation about something he can’t quite catch. The child in his arms has stopped shivering, but the fever hasn’t lowered much yet-- the villager feeding him potions slowly and in little doses amid nervous glares.

They must think he’s the child’s caretaker, they must think he’s horrible at it. They’re wrong in the first half and most likely right on the second one, he thinks.

The barricaded church doors rattle every few minutes, groans echoing in the night along with cackles and the far away scream of some poor soul getting mauled or shot at. The villagers and travelers try their best to look away from the shaking doors, trying to put brave faces or being just too used to the constant threat of death at night.

“Whazzat..?”

Techno looks down at the kid, still red-faced and eyes bleary with tiredness, but less shaky than a few hours ago, eyes clouded with the desire to sleep rather than the pain of a fever.

“Mobs,” Techno replies, and at the kid’s frown he sighs, “monsters.”

  
He can see the exact moment the kid’s eyes widen and his bottom lip trembles. And not wanting to deal with a crying child, he tries to be consoling, “They can’t get in,”

“I dn’t like them..”

“No one does. Go back to sleep.”

“No! They gonna get me again!”

So that would--maybe, explain the bruises around the toddler’s flesh. It’s both almost relieving and incredibly disturbing. Grown adults easily succumbed against mobs, children had literally little to no chance of surviving at all. “Ah.”

The kid is still feverish, the way he shakes slightly and doesn’t fight his hold at all like when he did as he first started carrying him. Instead, burrowing further into his red cape and pressing his tiny body against him, whining slightly. “Don’t like them.”

“They are quite annoying,” He mumbles, “very annoying.” 

The child shivers and stays quiet for a couple of minutes, then his breathing evens out as he falls asleep once again, Techno looking at him with a blank expression before sighing, feeling the dull pains of a headache beating against his skull already.

He gets up, slowly, taking off his cape and leaving it behind as it is being used as a blanket still, before walking towards one of the less boarded windows and putting aside wood and chairs and barrels, not listening to the panic he’s causing among the people taking refuge there.

He jumps out, and people scream after him in worry and disbelief just as he slashes through a zombie, head launched to one side as the body twitches and falls the opposite way. The moon is full, slowly making its way across the sky as mobs pour from the forest and caves and make their way towards the dying village.

With warm familiarity, he slashes and hacks away at limbs, crushes bones and spills insides, making the village more of a graveyard than it already was. The screams are background noise and the moon an inviting friend willing to dull his annoyance.

The Blood God smiles, not kind but cruel, as he always does.

* * *

  
  
  
  


As soon as the sun rises, he’s ready to leave.

The child-- Tommy, looks better in the morning. No longer shivering and pale, but still sort of weak. The village looks after him as Techno finishes straggler mobs, as they sing their praises and allow hope to bloom in their chests. 

Techno has half a mind to just leave and leave the kid, but he looks at the blond toddler and something in his head beats painfull against his skull and his lips press together into a line. He’s very small and weak, and leaving him here is the same thing as leaving him to die. Will he really undo all the effort he put in keeping the kid alive by leaving him in a half-dead village?

He sighs,  _ ‘What would Phil do?’ _

Except, except he knows exactly what Phil would do, because his father had done it twice already. Because he had been in his position before.

“C’mon kid, let’s keep going,”

Tommy looks at him, searching for something in his face before nodding, quietly muttering something to himself. “M’kay,”

He can’t undo the work he put into ensuring the kid’s survival by leaving him there. The village will die in a month or so, it will certainly not survive the next full moon; the people will leave or perish in the jaws of a zombie or a spider. Techno takes a short, fleeting look towards the burnt building and says nothing, turning again and walking ahead.

If he returns in a few months and the village was nothing but crumbling ruins, it isn’t his problem to fix.

He knows what Phil would do; Stay, build golems, rebuild the homes.

However, Technoblade is not as kind as Phil. He will leave the village to die, let nature take its course. He will find a better, more secure village and drop the toddler at some orphanage or in front of a villager’s door.

The half piglin walks away without another look back, kid bright eyed and at his heels, plan at the ready.


End file.
